Cindy tells me, the rich girls are weepingCindy tells me, they've given up sleeping aloneAnd now they're so confused by their new freedomsAnd she tells me they're selling up their maisonettesLeft the hotpoints to rust in the kitchenettesAnd they're saving their labour for insane reading.

Some of them lose - and some of them loseBut that's what they want - and that's what they chooseIt's a burden - such a burdenOh what a burden to be so relied on.

Cindy tell me, what will they do with their livesLiving quietly like labourer's wivesPerhaps they'll re-acquire those things they've all disposed of.